


and you still love him.

by pricelessmaple



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Everything Hurts, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Dialogue, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, anyways i'm sorry i didn't want this to be my first berlermo fic either, how the FUcK do i tag this, major hurt :) but minor comfort :))
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pricelessmaple/pseuds/pricelessmaple
Summary: a silent moment of reflection on what ifs.(or: andrés thinks about his best friend.)
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Kudos: 21





	and you still love him.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first Berlermo piece, hopefully it’s not awful... this started out as a vent piece from Martín’s POV, but a few very vivid images I had changed that quickly. I can’t draw, but I can throw some words together, so I’m hoping it didn’t translate terribly.  
> I’ve been feeling incredibly unhappy with my writing lately so I tried something different here and I don’t honestly hate it.  
> if it’s super out of character, please let me know! better to get some bad reviews than to continue writing OOC, right?  
> anyways I’ll shut up now and let you have my faux deep piece lmao

you meet him on accident, or perhaps fate brought him to you, the engineer to complete your plan. he doesn’t open up to you, not at first. but you break down his walls and when he finally tells you everything, you know one thing for sure. 

you don’t want to hurt him. 

you’ve seen how life has handled him, how it’s beaten him down so harshly. smashed every piece of hope in him until the light in his eyes is nothing more than a careful flicker. you see him sitting there on his knees, putting what’s left of his heart in your hands, praying to the god that does not love him that you’ll be gentle with him.

and you are, for the most part. you let him know he’s loved, weaving tapestries with your tongue for him, rearranging the stars so he can know how much he matters. but he can’t have you. he wants you, but he can’t have you. he lets cupid’s arrow pierce through his chest, but doesn’t try to take it out. you realise it’s there, with blood seeping through his shirt, but he puts on a jacket and turns away. you never ask about it.

you catch his stolen glances, the way he touches you as if he’s afraid you’ll break under his fingertips (or worse, leave-). you chase after pretty girls instead, their kisses burning into your skin as his blood gathers at your feet. in those last days, you wonder what might have been if you hadn’t been so afraid of your own feelings.

words are easy. you know this. words are so much easier than messy emotions. you don’t want to hurt him.

he’s so kind to you. he teaches you how to dance for your wedding and you’re a little jealous of the way rhythms have always moved through his body so effortlessly. he sings for you, and you hear all of the softness and yearning in his voice when you request some cheesy love song. everything else sounds ugly in comparison. he ends up in the margins of your drawings, imperfect smiles with that obvious tooth gap he hates (you love it, love how unique it makes him), and deep sea blue eyes you’re drowning in. he’s your best friend. you love him. you can’t say it out loud. neither of you even dare to fathom the word. 

you’re dying. your brother begs you to seek treatment, and you can see your past desperation in his eyes. (the roles are reversed now, and you’re the sick one. how funny life is.) you remember what it was like, to watch your mother become nothing but a shell of herself. you mourned her long before her heart stopped. your brother would do the same with you.

so would he. and you can’t hurt him. you can’t. so you relish your last days with him, and you don’t tell him. you lie to your brother, saying he knows, but you can’t tell him.  you continue to work on the plan you two cradle so lovingly. it’s your love song to him. you have dreams of him painted in gold. it drips from his lips and he poses for you like he’s waiting for you to draw him. you try to reach out for him one night. your hand never makes it. 

you get married one last time. you don’t tell her either. with every marriage, his lies get better with a fake smile plastered on and caring words that almost don’t sound hollow. she treats you well, but you’re only with her because it will hurt less to see her face when you lose yourself. it’s so selfish. you’ve always been so selfish.

he unbuttons his shirt when you go to say goodbye. he lets you see his festering wound on full display, and you know it’s going to hurt when you take out the arrow. but you need to weave one last tapestry for him, rearrange the stars as if they were made just for him. you taste his lips, and he falls apart under you. when you pull away, you rip it out to take it with you, but what you won’t see is that part of his heart is on it too. he doesn’t ask you to stay. you leave with the arrow, with a piece of his heart, and you pretend not to hear him sobbing and screaming as he wrecks the room in an attempt to soothe the pain you’ve left behind.  your love song to him is scattered on the floor, tossed aside and unwanted. he doesn’t touch it again for a while.

you didn’t want to hurt him. but you’re a selfish coward. you die a hero, sacrificing yourself for your brother, for those you might have called your friends in another life. you tell yourself this is the best thing for everyone. but you’re a selfish coward because you wish he was there with you instead of this girl who never wanted you.  because you can’t face losing yourself with drool on your chin, locked in your own body. because you know the treatment your brother begged you to try won’t work. you leave them behind without an explanation. 

there’s silence for a moment after your body hits the ground. they dump you in a ditch somewhere and never tell anyone. he never sees you again. 

you didn’t want to hurt him. but you don’t see the monster he turns into as the insects pick away at you. you don’t hear the way he tears everyone who tries to get close to him apart. you don’t see how he punishes himself. 

it takes time, but he lets the big guy in. he shows him the nasty scar you left behind. they get to heal together. 

and he’s able to give him everything you had wanted for him. he’s happy. the quiet soldier you had once made jokes with and barked orders at can’t weave tapestries with his tongue, can’t rearrange the stars. but he can hold him against his chest and make sure he knows how much he’s worth. 

you didn’t want to hurt him, but you did. (he still loves you.)

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at any of these places below —
> 
> Twitter: @erikgelden
> 
> Tumblr: @asterthetic
> 
> Instagram: @gordonstanheight


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